


Megadweeb and the Holy Nerd (in which there is a truly excessive amount of eye-rolling)

by OLTRX



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alive Hale Family, Alternate Universe - High School, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-29
Updated: 2015-04-29
Packaged: 2018-03-26 06:44:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3841006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OLTRX/pseuds/OLTRX
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He could hear Stiles’s light chuckle behind him, then more furious scribbling.<br/>	What he got back was: "Neville is totally badass! He’s brave, he tells Voldemort to go fuck himself, he basically runs Dumbledore’s army after the main trio ditch, obviously there’s that part where he destroys the horocrux. (Plus, Matthew Lewis’s puberty transformation is the most magical thing about the whole movie series.)"<br/>	Derek stared at the handwriting for a few moments. Stiles thought Derek is badass (maybe) and... had a nice puberty transformation (possibly implied)? Derek didn’t really know how to interpret that, but he guessed it must be a compliment. How was he supposed to respond to that?<br/>	The note he returned said "I only read the books", and for his efforts he received a soft smack on the back of the head.<br/>	“Fucking hipster,” Stiles whispered lowly in his ear, and when Derek chuckled Harris glared at him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Megadweeb and the Holy Nerd (in which there is a truly excessive amount of eye-rolling)

“Derek!” Talia screamed. Downstairs, she could hear the muffled shrieking of what could’ve been a smoke alarm or possibly Cora. Talia sighed, took a moment to prepare herself, and then pushed the door open.

She wasn’t about to actually step _inside_ the place. Mounds of dark clothing were piled high across the floor; the dresser drawers were pulled open and filled to the brim with unfolded t-shirts and black skinny jeans. The desk by the door was haphazardly stacked with textbooks. If she took just _one_ step in and went up on her toes, she could see Derek, face down in the dark blue sheets, body sprawled out behind him, blanket wrapped tightly around one leg, just as expected. She sighed again and lifted up the pair of pan lids she was holding.

“DEREK!” she shouted again, and brought them together with a huge clang. Her lump of a son groaned; one arm rolled off the edge and started grasping across the ground for another pillow, which, as soon as he got his hand on, he pressed over his head. “IT’S SEVEN THIRTY THREE, I SWEAR TO GOD IF YOU DON’T GET UP RIGHT NOW I’LL SIC CORA ON YOU!”

The excited shrills of the younger child could be heard from below, in tandem now with the other beeping, which meant that the smoke alarm was almost _definitely_ going off. Shit.

Derek’s head popped up, and he turned his dark, sleepy glare onto Talia.

“You wouldn’t,” he mumbled, only half intelligible through the thick sleep-haze. Talia quirked an eyebrow, and did her best to put her hands on her hips. 

“Try me,” she said. Derek seemed to contemplate this for a second, then grumbled something under his breath and swung his legs off the bed. She smiled, and as the smell of burning eggs reached her nose, she sprinted out and straight down the stairs. The sound of Derek’s shouted, “Close the door Mom!” chased her down, followed a moment later by the sound of slamming. She rolled her eyes.

***

Derek lifted the fork to his mouth and immediately was greeted by a taste somewhat more bitter than he was expecting. He chewed a few more times experimentally– _definitely_ more bitter. A _lot_ more bitter. He looked down to see Talia sliding a second blackened omelet onto his plate.

“This is burnt,” Derek said.

“That’s your fault,” Talia said.

“How is that _my_ fault?” Derek asked.

“It just is,” Talia said. Cora, sitting at the end of the table in her high chair, simply cooed, and then shrieked again, all while kicking and delightedly pounding her tiny fists on the table.

Derek looked back down at his eggs, and tried to subtly scrape the charred black mess off his tongue with his teeth. He grabbed the jug of milk from the end of the table and poured himself a tall glass, which he was chugging just as Laura walked in.

“You know, I read somewhere that milk actually isn’t that good for you,” she said. She was wearing her IN-N-OUT hat and a ponytail. Derek rolled his eyes, and kept drinking until he was done. He wiped his mouth across the back of his hand.

“Of course it is!” Talia protested. “Calcium keeps the bones strong. Plus, milk is the first thing in life we know how to consume. Humans are _born_ drinking milk.”

“Yeah,” Laura said, swiping an apple off the counter and taking a bite, “ _human_ milk.”

“Thinking of going vegan?” Derek asked. Laura rolled her eyes.

“Are you done?” Laura asked. She made a show of checking her watch. “We need to be leaving soon.”

Derek glanced quickly at his plate and then stood. He kissed Talia on the cheek on his way out, and gracefully bowed out of the way of the spoonful of oatmeal Cora flung in his direction. It made a wet _splat_ sound against the lavender wall.

***

By the time Laura swerved and screeched into the parking lot, he was already ten minutes late. He swung his backpack over his shoulder and dashed out; as soon as the door was shut behind him he could hear the car zooming away back down the road.

He walked quickly through the silent halls; the only sound was the distant voice on the campus security guard’s walkie talkie. Finally, he arrived at his classroom door, and grabbed the handle. It wouldn’t budge. He shifted and pushed against it some; still nothing. He hunched over and pressed his face against the small window– Dark, seats empty, backpacks left leaning against the desks. He took a step back and scanned the length of the door again. They hadn’t left a note.

In a sigh, he glanced through the open doorway at the end of the hall. A ring of students was sitting on the field. He recognized the long, silver hair of his teacher. He rolled his eyes, huffed, and started walking.

When he arrived, he dropped his bag next to a familiar figure, and assumed the same meditative pose as the others; legs crossed, hands resting palms-up on knees, back straight and eyes closed. If he moved a little bit, he could feel the turf and tiny black rubber pellets digging into his thigh. He could hear the wind rustling the leaves in the trees, and a PE class taking place the next field over, with all the whistles and grunts that entailed. A few minutes passed.

“Well,” their teacher said softly, and Derek opened his eyes. She was looking across all their faces with a small, inwardly satisfied smile, gentle breeze playing with her long grey bangs. “That was nice. Welcome, Derek. We’ve just been meditating.”

One or two people turned to glance to him, but the others were filling the space with the sounds of stretching, yawning, groaning, sighing, laughing, talking. Stiles, who he was sitting next to, shone a bright grin at him.

“Can you go into lotus?” Stiles asked. He yanked at one of his legs and tried to stack it on the other, before pantomiming grand pain and defeat. Derek wrapped his hand around his own ankle, but as soon as he started tugging he knew it wasn’t going to happen.

“Nah,” he said.

The teacher clapped, and waited patiently for about thirty seconds for the attention of the class to return to her.

“Should we finish our class inside?” she asked.

“Let’s not,” Stiles said. “Can we just stay out here?”

“Yeah,” Ethan chimed in. Aiden nodded beside him. She gave them a pensive look, then nodded.

“Alright,” she said. A whistle blew. Some ball was thrown. Running. Shouting that felt muffled through the thin layer of fog. “We’re going to be holding debates in two weeks. I have here a list of names...”

***

“Pst,” Stiles hissed behind him. In front of him, Harris droned on and scrawled in blue across the white board. Something hit the back of his head, and then again. He reached back, and felt a small ball of crumpled paper drop into his hand.

He unfolded it under the desk, and tried to read it as discreetly as possible. 

_Do you think he goes home and practices his Snape voice to use in class the next day?_ next to a crudely drawn picture of the aforementioned magical teacher. Derek reached for his pencil, and wrote with the paper smoothed across his thigh: _I have no idea, but I know for a fact that_ you _go home and pretend to be Ron in front of the mirror each night._

After a moment of reading the note, Stiles began scribbling furiously, and handed it back.

_Excuse you, is that supposed to be an insult? Everyone knows Ron is great. Us lovable sidekicks have to stick together._

Derek wrote: _Sidekick to who_?

Stiles took a few minutes to write out his answer. Harris was really on a roll; he kept talking and talking and _talking_. Derek had no idea what he’d said in the past half an hour. He was only halfheartedly trying to keep up with what he’d written on the whiteboard. He took a few moments to fill in the gaps in his notes, and then felt the edge of the folded paper jabbing him sharply at the nape of his neck and snatched it back. _Scott, duh. Scott’s Harry Potter– pure conviction and morality, innocent puppy-dog eyes, the admiration of many adults. Lydia is Hermione; badass, perfect, smart. Viktor Krum (Jackson)_ wishes _he was good enough for her. Allison is Ginny, because she’s badass, and like a sister to me, and also she’s dating Scott._

Derek smirked, and checked to make sure Harris wasn’t watching before scrawling his reply. _You’ve obviously thought this through thoroughly. Who does that make me?_

Stiles only took two seconds to write his response.

_Neville Longbottom_.

Derek raised his eyebrows, and wrote three big question marks and one _!_ across the page.

He could hear Stiles’s light chuckle behind him, then more furious scribbling.

What he got back was: _Neville is totally badass! He’s brave, he tells Voldemort to go fuck himself, he basically runs Dumbledore’s army after the main trio ditch, obviously there’s that part where he destroys the horocrux. (Plus, Matthew Lewis’s puberty transformation is the most magical thing about the whole movie series.)_

Derek stared at the handwriting for a few moments. Stiles thought Derek is badass (maybe) and... had a nice puberty transformation (possibly implied)? Derek didn’t really know how to interpret that, but he _guessed_ it must be a compliment. How was he supposed to respond to that?

The note he returned said _I only read the books_ , and for his efforts he received a soft smack on the back of the head.

“Fucking hipster,” Stiles whispered lowly in his ear, and when Derek chuckled Harris glared at him.

***

“Hold it higher,” Stiles said, and elbowed him sharply in the ribs. The wind was blowing more ferociously now; the fog had cleared, but it was still cold. Derek held his sign higher. 

Next to him, Erica was grumbling.

“I can’t believe I let McCall rope me into this,” she said, but the corner of her mouth was upturned just slightly. There were a few stray hairs stuck in her lipgloss.

“Come on, Erica, it’s for _Allison_!” Stiles said with another goofy grin, just as Isaac was saying, “It’s the puppy eyes. They’re a known killer.”

Lydia had her hair up in a milkmaid braid, so despite the wind, she still looked perfect. Being Allison’s best fried, she was eagerly holding up her sign at the front of the line. 

“Shit,” Stiles said. “I think she’s coming. Everyone in position!”

“My bad, thought we _already were_ ,” Jackson replied, but still straightened his back and held his sign higher than everyone else’s. 

“Showoff,” Stiles mumbled under his breath. Derek chuckled.

Scott and Allison rounded the block of classrooms and approached the courtyard where all of them were standing, Scott leading the blindfolded Allison by the arm. She was giggling. One perfect curl fluttered away from her face. It was inaudible, but Scott said something that looked a lot like ‘wait right here’, and dashed forwards to grab the roses from the bench behind where Lydia was standing. 

“Okay, you can take it off now!” Scott shouted.

“What?” Allison asked. She was too far away, and it was too windy.

“You can– take off the blindfold!” Scott shouted even louder. Almost collapsing with laughter, she tugged the bow and the cloth came off. Her hands came up to her mouth immediately, and she doubled over. Scott held up the bouquet and shouted, at the top of his lungs this time, “Allison Argent, will you go to prom with me?”

Before she could say yes, Erica lost her grip and the sign flew down the hallway. Apparently, Derek and Stiles had accidentally switched places at some time, too, but Allison ran and jumped up to put her legs around Scott’s waist and give him one of the deeply inappropriate bedroom kisses they were known for.

The picture Matt took for the school newspaper just moments after that showed the bouquet on the ground by Scott and Allison’s feet, Allison smiling gleefully towards the camera, pink cheeked with her legs wrapped around Scott’s waist, and behind them, a line of students holding signs that read AL LI -- N  P O R M?

***

“It’s kind of a deep, metallic green,” Malia said, passing her phone across the table.

“It’s gorgeous,” Allison said with a considerate smile. Lydia gave a single affirmative nod.

“I’m trying to decide between the pink satin,” she said, and was met with a chorus of coos when she held out her phone, “and the black, and the purple.”

“Mine’s red,” Erica said. “Long skirt, sleek, slit up the side Jessica Rabbit style.”

“Sexy,” Lydia said with a wolfish grin.

Derek turned to Stiles, who was playing flappy bird and humming something, then to Jackson and Scott, who were having an intense conversation with Isaac about lacrosse. Derek popped a chicken nugget into his mouth.

“Is it just me,” he said, “or do the fries seem starchier than usual today?”

Stiles looked up, and grabbed a fry off of Derek’s plate. It didn’t compress at all when he squeezed it between his fingers. He popped it in his mouth.

“Flavorless and hard,” Stiles commented. He curled his fingers in the air and looked off into the distance, obviously trying to summon more details like a great french-fry connoisseur. “The bumps of the waves certainly seemed stiffer than usual. If you payed attention, you might’ve seen that the tip was blackened. Yes– yes, I think it is just a _little_ bit starchier than yesterday.”

He smiled, and took another french fry from Derek’s plate before he could swat his hand away.

“Hey Stiles,” Scott said. “You should get in on this limo share plan.”

“How much a person?” Stiles asked. Scott shrugged.

“I don’t know yet. Between fifty and a hundred? Depends on how many people are planning on riding with us,” Scott said.

“Derek?” Stiles asked. Derek shrugged.

“Maybe,” he said. Scott turned back to Jackson and Isaac. “Are you planning on asking anyone?”

“Lydia, per tradition,” Stiles said. “Other than that... I don’t think so. You?”

“I uh,” Derek said. “I don’t know?”

***

“What time is it?” Derek asked. Laura used her foot to scoop up a pile of clothing and dump in into her arms. She reached for a white shirt that was bunched up at the foot of the bed. “That one’s not dirty.” 

Laura rolled her eyes and kicked it across the room. 

“I’m only doing this because Mom isn’t making me pay rent,” she said, then hoisted the pile of laundry higher on her hip and headed for the door. “You’re phone’s been going off for a while now, by the way.”

“Shut the– Laura, can you _please_ shut the door behind you?” Derek asked, exasperated.

“You can shut your _own_ door, Derek, my hands are full!” she said. Derek groaned, and pulled his phone off the charging cable on his way to the door. Yawning, he clicked the button and it flashed on. 12:34 p.m., countless unread message icons. He swiped right.

_Stiles: I can’t believe you’ve never seen the movies_

_Stiles: Have you been in a coma for the past decade, or what?_

_Stiles: I feel like it’s my obligation to help you_

_Stiles: We need to marathon, like, right now_

_Stiles: Be aware that if at any time you say the words, “The book was better,” you will be slapped; not because I disagree but because nobody should get away with being that much of a hipster_

_Stiles: I’m coming to your house. I’m bringing popcorn and my box set. Prepare yourself._

Derek checked the timestamp– sent twenty minutes ago. That was probably enough time for Stiles to get in his car and drive over if he actually wanted to, right? He felt the panic rising and his thumbs started moving rapidly across the screen.

_Derek: Do NOT come to my house, there are people here and they will eat you_

Derek reached for a pair of pants, but found his hand brushing across the shag carpeting instead. Damn it, Laura. He walked to the dresser, and pulled out a pair of black skinny jeans. Almost by the time his pants were on enough to put his phone in his pocket, he felt it buzz.

_Stiles: Are they going to eat me alive, or are they going to cook me? Because I’d like to recommend myself medium-rare with a nice hollandaise._

_Derek: Nobody’s going to eat you, because you’re not coming over._

He pulled on some t-shirt and walked downstairs. He went straight to the fridge, which released a quick burst of cold air when he pulled the door open. The florescent light buzzed. He scanned the shelves.

Leftover lasagna. Juice boxes. Deli meat. Milk. Some other uncooked meats. Asparagus, kale, celery. He frowned. Nothing caught his eye. He pulled the freezer open; there was some ice cream, and a package of dinosaur shaped chicken nuggets, but not much else. His phone vibrated.

_Stiles: :( :( :(_

Before Derek could finish typing a reply, he got another message.

_Stiles: Help me help you, Derek._

Derek sighed. It was Saturday, and he had nothing to do all day but make weird faces at Cora and listen to Laura bitch at him.

_Derek: Don’t you have an entire house to yourself?_

He aggressively watched the little blinking dots. Typing. 

“Close the door, you’re wasting energy,” Talia said. Derek pushed it halfway closed and let the magnets do the rest of the work. It shut with a satisfying smack.

_Stiles: That is a VERY good point._

_Stiles: So, Derek, are you ready to have your mind blown?_

Derek rolled his eyes and shook his head.

“Who’s that?” Talia asked. She tossed a stray toy into Cora’s playpen, and Cora squealed happily.

“Stiles,” Derek said. “He invited me over. Can I?”

“Is he coming to pick you up?” Talia asked. Derek looked down at the phone.

_Derek: Can you come get me?_

“Maybe,” Derek said. 

“Will you be back for dinner?” Talia asked. Derek shrugged. The toy came flying back out, and hit him square in the back of the head. It started playing some irritating jingle as it hit the ground, and Cora started laughing maniacally. Talia sighed. “Alright. Let me know.”

Fifteen minutes later, Stiles’s jeep pulled up in their driveway and Derek sprinted out. Before Stiles had the chance to open the car door, Derek had already climbed in.

“In a rush?” Stiles said with a grin. “I wanted to say hi to Cora.”

“Where do you even know her from?” Derek asked and fastened his seatbelt. 

“Grocery store. Park. Chuck E Cheese,” Stiles said.

“Chuck E Cheese?” Derek asked. “Aren’t you a bit old for that?”

“Summer job,” Stiles said. 

“Why would she even be at Chuck E Cheese?” Derek asked. “She can’t even speak yet.”

Stiles shrugged.

“It’s my job to serve pizza, not ask questions,” he said. He started pulling out of the driveway. Soon, they were whirring down the road, redwoods flashing by through the window. 

***

Stiles threw the door open with a dramatic flare.

“Mi casa,” he announced. “Cheetos?”

“Sure,” Derek said. He followed Stiles into the kitchen and watched him pull a bag off the top of the fridge. 

“I think I have some microwave popcorn somewhere,” Stiles said. 

***

“That’s not how it happened in the book,” Derek said. Stiles smacked him on the back of the head again. It had grown darker; a half empty pizza box lay open on the coffee table, next to several popcorn bags and a Cheetos bag, decorated with neon orange crumbs. 

“It _can’t_ be the same,” Stiles said. “This is a movie, not a book. It’s more of a _general_ interpretation.”

“He was _shouting_ ,” Derek said. Stiles threw a piece of popcorn at him and it landed behind his ear. Derek plucked it out of his hair and popped it directly in his mouth; then, he sent a cheeto flying Stiles’s way. He ducked out of the way, and suddenly he had half the popcorn bag upended on him, and food was being flung both ways.

***

Derek saw Stiles a lot; sometimes because he was just _there_ , and sometimes because he was looking. In the locker room, out of the corner of his eye– the slopes of his back, ass, thighs.

Stiles stood under the head of the shower until the steam stopped rising and his thumbs had pruned. The whistle blew, and he was shoved and pushed into the dirt, sliding face-first, ass-first, covering himself in mud. Derek didn’t fall over so much. He took short showers, and he left the locker room as fast as he could. 

***

Derek stood at the front of the class, hunched over the podium. His leather jacket was strewn across the chair a few seats down. On his right, Matt and Erica. On his left, the opposition: Isaac, Boyd, and Stiles.

“...rates of binge drinking amongst teens are severely decreased in countries such as France, where it’s customary to begin drinking socially at a younger age–”

Stiles sprung to his feet.

“Point of information–” he said, “The Australian drinking age is 18, but they’re still known for their alcoholism.”

“Then that reflects their own personal culture of binge drinking, I’m saying–”

“Point of information– then _France’s_ lack of binge drinking reflects their own personal culture of not binge drinking,” Stiles said.

“A lot of European countries have similar practices, a majority of European countries with similar practices _also_ have lower binge drinking rates–”

“Point of information! Those are _European_ cultures, and America has not been part of England since 1783; our culture is _distinctly_ different from theirs and always has been, especially concerning the consumption of hard liquors such as whiskey, and therefore we are _basically_ incomparable to them.”

“I’m going to keep going now,” Derek said, and took a breath. “Lowering the drinking age and legally allowing teens to drink would also remove the aura of mystique and illicitness around alcohol consumption, which may be one of the key–”

“Point of information–”

“Point of order,” Shannon said from the back of the room. She glanced up from her watch to give Stiles a stern look. “Let him finish his sentence.”

With a light blush and apologetic smile, Stiles plopped back down in his seat. He stretched his leg out in front of him, flexing the foot, and folded his hands behind his head.

Derek took another breath, and then traced his finger across the printed text in front of him. The ink was smooth under his finger. He looked up, and started speaking again.

A minute passed.

“Time,” Shannon said, and he collapsed into his chair as Matt moved to replace him.

***

A hand, creeping up next to his in the dark of a crowded movie theater. How old were they? What grade were they in? Twelve, thirteen, seventh, eighth? He couldn’t quite remember. He remembered showering before, and combing his hair, and pulling on his nike socks with a certain amount of nervous anticipation. He and his posse met her and her four closest friends at the movie theater. The teenager working the ticket book was chewing gum, and and barely glanced at any one of them with that apathetic stare. He’d coordinated the event _specifically_ so he wouldn’t have to buy the ticket from Laura; he was sure she’d intentionally ruin _everything_ for him. As it was, he could fish change out of the pocket of his basketball shorts in peace while the girl tittered with her friends behind him.

They blushed and turned away from each other when there was a kiss scene. 

At Stiles’s house, he put his hand on the couch next to Stiles’s hand. He rubbed his thumb in circles over the fuzzy fabric. He wondered wether they’d have wound up in that movie theater together, inches away, blushing and looking in opposite directions, if their social circles had aligned just a few years earlier.

He was glad they hadn’t. 

***

“Still going stag?” Stiles asked. One of his hands was in his pocket, one was scratching across a tree root.

“Maybe,” Derek said. “I guess.”

They were sitting under a tree on the field, looking through chain link fence at the other field, where a few people were running and the whistle was blowing and dirt was flying up beneath their heels. 

It was warmer. Derek wasn’t wearing his jacket, and Stiles wasn’t wearing his hoodie.

“Okay,” Stiles said. “Cool. Did you see the Beacon Hills High Instagram post with the photo from the newspaper–”

“You should go with me,” Derek said. “We should go together.”

“We are,” Stiles said, with a weird smile. Derek looked away, and ripped a few pieces of grass out of the ground.

“No,” Derek said. Even though he wasn’t looking this time, he could see Stiles _expand_ , giant inhale inflating his body, eyebrows shooting up, back straightening.

“Oh,” Stiles said. 

Finstock shouted something. A car parked.

“Yes,” Stiles said.

“Oh,” Derek said. He could feel the blush rising on his cheeks. 

“Porm,” Stiles said awkwardly. Derek chuckled, and put his hand between them. Stiles took it.

***

Epilogue

They stumbled drunkenly into the first empty bedroom they could find. Stiles was giggling as he shushed Derek and closed the door behind him. It took at least seven tries to find the lock, and by that time he was full on laughing. Despite himself, Derek felt a few snickers escaping.

Downstairs, the bass was still thumping. Scott and Allison were probably still grinding, Lydia was still dancing and Jackson was still standing stoically beside her. Erica and Boyd had, going by the noises, found the room next to theirs.

Stiles switched the light on.

“Wow,” he laughed. “Oh wow.”

The walls were dark purple, there were butterfly stickers above the bed, and the closet was giant, organized, filled with every color and fabric combination imaginable. 

“This is Lydia’s room,” Derek said, and Stiles snorted before collapsing into another fit of giggles. Derek tried his best to quell his own laughter, and walked over to pull Stiles to his chest.

“She’ll kill us,” Stiles said. Derek kissed him on the cheek, then the ear, then the neck, and the neck again as Stiles giggled and squirmed. “Oh my god Derek, stop, stop–”

Derek stopped and pulled back. Stiles had a goofy grin on his face. 

“Okay, you can keep going,” Stiles said.

This time, Derek moved in to mouth across Stiles’s jaw and scrape his teeth very gently across his neck. Stiles stopped laughing and let out a soft shivery noise.

“That feels nice,” Stiles sighed, and Derek moved down to his collar. He slowly pulled open the first button, then the second, and pressed his lips against Stiles’s skin. Stiles shuddered, and Derek got to work on undressing him. Soon, his shirt was all the way open, and he gently scraped a fingernail across Stiles’s nipple.

Stiles bucked up against Derek. He shrugged off his shirt and jacket in one move. 

“You need to be shirtless,” Stiles said. “You need to... remove your shirt.”

Derek worked his fingers over his own buttons quickly; soon Stiles’s wish had been fulfilled.

“Wow,” Stiles said. “Nice. Neville indeed.”

Derek snickered. 

“Do you want to go... sit on the bed, perhaps?” Stiles suggested with an eye waggle. He led Derek by the hand to the edge. As soon as Derek was seated, he placed himself in his lap.

“Enjoying yourself?” Derek asked. Stiles leaned in and kissed him deeply. When he pulled away, Derek was breathless and rock hard.

“Are you enjoying _your_ self?” Stiles asked, and ground down. Derek hissed. His hands instinctively flew to Stiles’s hips. Stiles smirked, and pushed down again. Derek groaned, and his head fell forward onto Stiles’s shoulder. 

Derek slipped the tips of his fingers under the front of Stiles’s pants, then pushed his hand down to cup his dick through his underwear. This time it was Stiles’s turn to groan. He rubbed up against Derek’s palm. 

“Jesus,” Derek said. Stiles laughed, then moaned. 

“I’m embarrassingly close,” Stiles said.

“So am I,” Derek said. Stiles kept grinding down on his dick, swaying back and forth, until Derek’s grip tightened.

Stiles captured his mouth in a kiss, rocking forwards into Derek’s hand. He came with a wet little gasp, and Derek could feel the moisture where the come had landed in his underwear. He reached down and cupped Derek’s crotch, through two layers of pans, and that was it. He exhaled, thrusting up against Stiles’s thigh, and came.

After, Stiles rolled off of him onto Lydia’s bed.

“Wow,” he laughed. “Well, that was fast.”

“Your fault,” Derek said, kissing the back of his neck. “First time.”

“With a guy, or at all?” Stiles asked, looking over his shoulder. Derek shrugged.

“At all,” Derek said. Stiles blushed.

“Same,” he said.

Then there came the sound of stumbling and kissing outside their door.

“Did you lock it?” Derek hissed. Stiles grimaced.

“I think?” 

The door popped open a few inches. Through the crack a sliver of pale pink satin shone.

“Shit,” Derek said. Stiles grabbed his hand and made a vague motion towards the other side of the room. Derek raised his eyebrows, and Stiles tugged him in that direction. “The closet?” 

Stiles shrugged, and then nodded. Derek rolled his eyes, but followed him in.

By the time Lydia and Jackson made it in, Derek and Stiles were three feet deep in fluffy sundresses, squished up against a rack of shoes.

Derek must’ve made some sort of weird face, because then Stiles started giggling again, and Derek had to lift a finger to his lips to try to _shush_ him again, but that only made Stiles lose it more. He pressed both hands over his mouth, but he looked like he was about to burst. Derek made the vague motion of implied strangling, which was really just counterproductive. Stiles rolled onto his back.

The closet door slid open.

“What are you doing here,” Lydia said. It wasn’t a question. 

Stiles collapsed, covering his face with his hands. The song changed downstairs. Jackson was already shirtless, and giving them both very unimpressed looks. 

“Derek?” he asked. Derek blushed and looked away.

“We were just leaving,” Derek said. It took a lot of strength to haul Stiles to his feet and drag him out of the room.

“Bye Lydia!” Stiles said, blowing her a kiss. She rolled her eyes and shut the door behind them, followed by the resounding click of a lock. 

“Alright, I think it’s time to take you home,” Derek said.

“I can drive,” Stiles said.

“You _cannot_ drive,” Derek said. Stiles frowned.

“Fine. You can’t drive either.”

“Good point,” Derek said. “So, crash here?”

They stumbled through the living room, through the kitchen, to the little door with squeaky hinges, into Lydia’s basement. They collapsed together on the couch in front of the television.

Stiles fell asleep drooling on Derek’s shoulder, curled up against his chest, surrounded by the smell of stale cigars and the sound of Nicky Minaj. Derek fell asleep to the sound of Stiles breathing.


End file.
